lost wilderness of being

Lost Wilderness of Being

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There’s a lot moving these days and the opportunity to shed projections and identities is abundant. The chance to move out of judgment and into our truth comes with what can be considered a high price tag. Just when we think we’ve let go of every pre-conception and belief that was important to us, the guard at the gate of our happiness ups the toll. In my own quest for joy and peace I came across the following stream of consciousness that has offered me comfort and contemplation:

Even though I did not know where I was going I still feel I have lost my way. I have lost my certainty of being me. There was no one to tell me I was long forgotten lost… forgot and lost the railway… imagination lays the tracks… tracks go one way. Steer the imagination and you are hopelessly lost.

Lost hope, lost will, lost self. In this state even the will of union seems too rigid. For in the end it’s a concept along the tracks that lead one-way to nowhere. In releasing to the process the process becomes no more. First the process becomes God, then compartmentalized, then loved, then lost… lost and forgotten.

The age old adage of “why?” Well then, “why bother?” To be free of the shackles, shake loose of the locks. But, this is not a revolution of expression. The cage door is opened, the bars are extinguished, but the bird remains. “Why?” This is not living out of hope or hopelessness. It’s just living in the lost wilderness of being.

Degrees of Frozen

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It seems just such a short time ago I was carrying on about noonday sun and flower petals. Enough time has passed somehow that all the vegetables have been put up and all the tinctures are brewed and bottled. The snow has come early and blessed the Earth with its quiet breath. So why has my life been caught up in the whirlwind when the air outside is so still and crisp? When my activity level does not mirror the seasons, appearances show that I am living out of harmony, but is this so?

Somehow, some way I don’t feel in discord. Disoriented maybe, but discordant no. There are these heavenly moments in the day when everything stands still, when the truth comes from my lips, and my heart is open wide. The subject of the conversation doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter who I’m speaking with or who I’m speaking of. As I dash from one task to the next all the details spin together like colored paint in a blender. There is no time in this melee to ask who I am or who I would like to be, there is just doing. I don’t even remember breathing once today, but here I am still moving through the world, enacting change.

Many spiritual masters teach stillness and observation as the keys to enlightenment. Most of us envision harmony with winter as a quiet, peaceful turning in. But, how many other manifestations of winter have we explored? We make assumptions and form static definitions of what each season is. Nature does not conform to such Platonic ideals.

An observation comes to mind that Sandra Ingerman expressed during the Medicine for the Earth class I took last month. She told us that when she merged with the Earth during winter she expected to find everything still and quiet. In contrast, she experienced a moving, shifting Earth, one very much alive and in motion. The concept of being “frozen” is relative. Absolute zero is hundreds of degrees below our current winter temps. That is how far we are from absolute stillness, hundreds of degrees.

My current degree of motion and activity may seem like madness to some. To a restless hummingbird that’s just traveled across the Gulf of Mexico, I am resting. It’s all a matter of degree and what experience of this season we choose to have. Somewhere along the way I choose this experience. Bewildered? Me too.

But, then I stop to consider. This winter has not been that still. We’ve had plentiful snowstorms that flood the warm ground, turn it to ice, then melt it to mud baths the next day. Winter is busy remaking the landscape with furious vigor and it seems, so am I.

In the Flow

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What an interesting phrase: “In the Flow.” These days it is used to explain some great psychedelic high in a movie cast with characters doped up and checked out. Or you’ll find it in reference to an especially loquacious portion of a rap song. But, I’ll give the credit for its current meaning in my life to my friend who owns a mineral shop in Kauai. She used it in conversation the other day saying about a person she’d introduced me to that “they’re in the same flow we are.”

I spent my last weekend with my friend at the Denver Gem and Mineral show wandering at her side as she purchased inventory for her store. As usual, the experience of being surrounded by so many amazing specimens from the Earth was shear joy, but this time I had a window into the show that, at the risk of sounding cliche, changed my life.

There was the meteroite guy from South Africa who, after inviting us to sit behind his tables to sort through red sugilite, pointed out a stunning piece of flourite sitting on the floor. He pulled a magazine up that had been propped open against the same piece and showed us the photo of the stone. “What better place for a museum quality flourite than the floor?” we chuckled. There was the couple who had quartz clusters bigger than a riding lawnmower and amethyst geodes that wouldn’t fit through the door of my house. We shared potato chips over citrine spheres. There was the opal dealer from Oregon who shared stories about his increasingly rebellious son with a warm smile on his face, or, on second thought, was it the glow coming from the opals?

Here were these vendors sitting on tens of thousands of dollars worth of inventory during hard economic times. Sure we met the cranky ones who had worry lines etched in their face, and we were grateful for the good deals they offered and quality stones they carried, but it was the glowing people we spent hours with. The light through the minerals sparkled in their eyes. They were constantly moving the lamps in their booths to show us the color in the stones. They were absolutely high and in love.

My friend and I debated as to if these stones could be considered a “luxury item” or not. I felt so because if I were living off the land I would live well, but not have access to aquamarine from Nepal. She disagreed because even when she was a poor student she spent her money on stones. They offer as much sustenance to her as the tomatoes in my garden do to me. Point well taken.

Regardless of if the minerals are a necessity or not, there is a fabulous culture surrounding them. All these people loving what they do, allowing precious stones and money to flow in and out of their lives like a fresh breeze, traveling the globe either literally or through contact with the stones, and living well while they do it. It was truly infectious. Maybe I’ll quit my day job and hit the road?

Here are some journey question ideas in regards to the article “In the Flow”… Remember to be kind and gentle with yourself in this inquiry. There is no judgement, no right or wrong… just your invaluable experience …

1. Can I recognize when others are in the flow of creation?
2. What does it feel like to observe and how is it when I experience it myself?
3. If I recognize this movement in the world, when was my most recent experience of it?
4. If I can’t observe or experience this, what are the blocks to me doing so?
5. What is my definition of “In the Flow”? How does it taste, feel, look, sound, etc.?

into summer

Into Summer… Imagine Winter?

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Given the lovely promptings of a dear friend I made it a goal of mine this season to partake in summer. For perhaps the first time in my life I decided to fuel summer experiences with my own imagination.

As a single child, a part of a two-home family I spent a lot of hours indoors waiting for my mom or dad to make it home from work. My eleventh summer I was trapped indoors in a full body cast. We titled the cast and the experience the “summer bummer”. So, needless to say I have a tad of seasonal agoraphobia. While everyone else is out loving the sun and abundance, I’m often inside searching for the motivation to leave the dark cave of a cool house.

Part of it was cellular memory. I just didn’t have it. I had learned how to enjoy the summer on camping trips and vacations, but I didn’t have the countless days of hours on end playing at who knows what outside. There were few other kids to play with and even fewer to romp careless with me around the relatively sterile suburban neighborhood I grew up in.

Given that most outdoor excursions I had in my youth required some sort of reason, as an adult I was left without one. Who was I going out to play with? Where were we going? What time would we be back? What was I going to do?

During my years as a field biologist all of these questions were taken care of for me. I got to play on the beach and in the woods as part of some extrinsic scientific plan. I was in heaven and didn’t realize that this lack of responsibility was a large part of it.

As my profession changed in favor of a steady income, my reason to go outside was no longer outside myself. I had to generate it from within and found it a troublesome chore. It was a heavy weight I couldn’t shake.

So, this summer I just kept going out against the doubt, the resentment, the apathy, and a lovely transformation came about. I stopped worrying who would entertain me. I quit fussing over the finish line because the weeding is never done. I found the sun flooded all hours of the day and took up with whatever small task caught my fancy.

I picked bouquets of flowers to decorate our table, lulled around with my mare in the noonday heat, found solace in the morning shade on our garden, picked bowl after bowl of lobelia and chamomile, and watched colorful new bugs come to visit our plants.

For the first time in my life I’ve gotten so caught up in summer that I’ve absolutely forgotten what winter is like. What a strong lesson about being in the moment. May the children of today trapped in video games, cable TV, and air conditioning find it sooner than myself. May those of us that have lost the memory find it again.

In Gratitude, Stacey

In response to “Into Summer… Imagine Winter?” you may choose to journey and/or journal on the following questions:

1. What season am I least familiar with?
2. What has kept me from partaking fully in this season?
3. When have I most appreciated this time of year?
4. Am I prepared to seize the next opportunity I have to partake?
5. How will I know I’ve fully immersed myself in the time?